


Of the Best Laid Plans

by MellytheHun



Series: Tumblr Sterek Prompts [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Detective Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic, Thief Derek, Tumblr Prompt, fic prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 01:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Prompt: "okay i get it you’re a great thief and don’t want to go to jail but i’m the exhausted af detective that’s assigned to catch you i stg if you let me bring you in so i can sleep i’ll get you a good deal” au





	Of the Best Laid Plans

Stiles sits on the floor, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his legs pretzeled and a deep exhaustion on his face. He looks at the Were standing in the ash circle, arms crossed defensively and still holding onto a very, very old mahogany piece that Stiles, personally, couldn’t care less about, but it’s wagered at somewhere near 2.4 million dollars. So. No one should even be _breathing_ near it. Much less stealing it for themselves and probably selling it on the black market for double what it’s worth.

Not that he has any idea what the thief’s been doing with all he’s been stealing.

“Age?”  


“Older than you.”  


Aggravated, Stiles sighs loudly, scratching useless non-information down onto the notepad rested on his thigh, “occupation?”

“International thief.”  


Stiles picks his head up in surprise.

“ _Inter_ national?”   


They stare at each other for a few beats and when Stiles makes peace with the fact that the Were is clearly not going to expound on that implication, he looks back down at his notepad, shaking his head disbelievingly.

“Name?”  


“Steve Stevenson.”  


Sharply, Stiles glares at the Were and the Were glares right back.

“What? You think I’m going to give you my real name? Just like that? You really think I’m going to just stand here and give you whatever information you want?”  


Rubbing his temple with his thumb and forefinger, Stiles puts his pen down and shuts his eyes. The museum is mostly dark - there’s a light over the both of their heads, but it’s the only light in the grand hall besides the patrol car lights coming in through the windows. All the light is giving him a headache anyway.

“Listen… it’s taken me _eight months_ to catch you, _Steve_ ,” Stiles bites out, running his palm over his forehead, “Eight months of catching shit from everyone in my office, of having my supervisor breathing down my neck, of getting to the scene just in time to watch you leave all my patrol cars in the dust or catch a note left behind by you to make me feel like an idiot. It’s been eight months of undiluted Hell and I’m… _tired_.”  


Another deep sigh that Stiles feels down to his bones and he lets hands fall into the opening of his legs. He drops the pen to the floor, lets the pad slide off his thigh, stares down at his tired hands and wonders if he’s even able to properly hold that pen anymore for the night. He needs sleep.

And rather than elated at catching this man who has lead him on a wild goose chase for nearly a year, he’s depressed. He just wants to go home.

“I didn’t get your case because I’m seasoned, I’ve got experience in this area, I’ve got a personal vendetta or I’m some _natural_ on the force - I got your case because _no one_ thought I’d catch you. For the past few years while you’ve been at this, no one has been able to get you and so there was no reason to believe that someone just joining the investigative team would be able to. They’re not hazing me either, they’re trying to push me out of the force with this shit because I’m not exactly great at making friends in the workplace. I got your case because no one really believed I could do it and for a while, I thought they might be right. I came… really close to giving up…”

After a short remembrance of nearly handing in his badge and walking out in a strop, Stiles clears his throat and pins on, “the point here being that _I_ want to stay up tonight questioning _you_ about as much as _you_ want to stand here with me and _get_ questioned. If you just cooperate, I’ll - I’ll do my best to get you a good plea deal. I’m not shirking my duties or anything, I just… I’m hoping you’ll take some pity on me here and just cooperate. I just want this to be over with.”  


There’s a beat of silence and then a rustle that has Stiles cautiously looking up again. The Were has sat down across from him, folded his own legs to mirror Stiles and while he hasn’t let the relic go, he’s got it in plain view rather than covering it up and looking defensive over it. 

The tension between them loosens.

Stiles meets the Were’s eyes and the Were tells him softly, “you really are tired.”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies with a gentleness he doesn’t initially intend to express, “I’m pretty… pretty exhausted.”  


With a nod, Stiles’ thief holds up the relic and asks, “do you know what this is?”

Stiles takes a look at it, shrugs and answers, “I dunno. Something celtic?”

“Close, but no cigar,” the Were smirks - it dies quickly, though.   


He looks at the mahogany piece in his hand, sadness and a different type of exhaustion suddenly writ over his face. Stiles’ back stiffens minutely. 

“What… what is it?”  


“It belongs to my family.”  


“…sorry?”  


Standing up, the Were places the relic down safely before turning around and shrugging off his shirt.

The same celtic-looking rune on the art piece is tattooed over the Were’s back. 

Stiles doesn’t know a whole lot about Weres, but he knows enough to know that getting a tattoo is no small feat. He knows they only tattoo Pack symbols onto themselves, if anything at all and a triskele like the one he’s looking at could potentially belong to plenty of bloodlines, but he thinks this guy is being honest with him. He doesn’t have anymore reason to lie.

“So these were… stolen?” Stiles clarifies.  


“I’m just stealing them back,” the Were replies, letting his shirt fall and turning to face Stiles again.  


“Who stole them from you?” Stiles asks, second wind coming to him at the prospect of something bigger and more meaningful being presented to him.  


“Argent family.” 

At the blank look on Stiles’ face, the Were adds, “… family name Hale mean anything to you?”  


Stiles’ eyes widen and he sits back a little, as if blown back by a wind.

“… are you _Derek Hale_?”  


“Yes and if you send some of your men to the intersection of Vet and Cardinal right about now, you’ll find Laura Hale.”  


Stiles’ eyes light up and he shoots upright, gesticulating broadly, “ _that’s_ how you stole the Mason Scrolls and Turner Painting in one night! I knew something was strange about the timing of that night! So, the two of you are in on it together? The two survivors of the Hale Fire? You guys have been off the grid for years…”

They hold a gaze for a while and Stiles asks, “why would you give up your sister’s location?”

“So that you can bring her here and we can go in together. If you take me in without her, she’ll come for you. And I’m being indelicate here - she _will_ kill you. Better to send someone down there, let them announce that I’m stuck in a mountain ash circle, here with you and she’ll come willingly, so long as no one tries to manhandle her.”  


“And you’re cooperating now because you want the deal?”  


“ _And_ you seem like an alright guy,” Derek emphasizes, “Eight months is a long time to be underestimated and undermined. I can sympathize. But _this_ ,” Derek picks up the triskele-decorated relic and continues, “ _this_ is mine. It belongs to me and my family. What’s left of it.”

Stiles frowns - he knows about the Hale Fire. Derek and Laura were handed off to some aunt out of state as far as Stiles can remember - he was about Derek’s age when it happened, though. It’s been over a decade - it’s hard to remember the fine details of the case. All he knows is that it’s gone unsolved for far too long and if he were to break the _Hale Fire cold case_? A _quintuple murder_? A _family annihilation_ nearly fifteen years old? 

Well, he’d get his own office, at least. 

And his thirst for vigilante justice would be quenched.

He’s in before he knows it.

“If you caught me, you can catch her too,” Derek adds, “And if you’re decent the way I think you are, you’ll try for us.”  


“Her?” Stiles asks, then his eyes widen again and his heart pounds, “Wait - you _know_ who set the fire?”  


“Yes and…” Derek hesitates before glancing around briefly, leaning closer to the circle line and adding, “I’ll tell you everything if you’ll hunt her down. But no one was willing to help us then, no one’s been willing to help us since and I’m only saying this much because I get the feeling this was supposed to happen.”  


“What do you mean?”  


“That we were supposed to meet. That I was meant to meet you - like the moon and tide. I just had to wait for the right moon to bring in my tide and I think you’re that moon.” Derek answers.  


Stiles’ cheekbones flush and Derek’s shy smile does something funny to his stomach. 

Stiles swallows roughly and says, “listen, Derek, if you’ve got intel on an open murder investigation _and_ arson case, I can guarantee you won’t be facing any jail time for theft. I’ll put my own savings down to keep you and your sister out if that’s what it takes - someone might want you to do some community service bullshit for reputation’s sake, but… I want to help you. I _will_ help you.”

“What’s your name?”  


Stiles blinks a little owlishly and answers, “Stiles. You can call me Stiles.”

Derek’s smile is gone, he looks serious and when he speaks again, it’s rough and low, “break the circle.”

The unspoken ‘if you trust me, you’ll do it without question,’ is heard anyway. Resoundingly. 

On an ill-advised impulse (and while breaking protocol Stiles could lose his job over) Stiles breaks the circle without another word and the next thing he knows, he’s being crushed by enormous arms. He sees from over Derek’s shoulder, the relic, back on its stand under a single light. One of Derek’s arms snakes around his back, the other holds the back of his head and he hears Derek rasp, “no one’s ever said that to me before.”

_“… I want to help you. I **will** help you.”_  


Stiles’ heart aches.

Derek’s hold tightens.

“Thank you, Stiles.”  


He hugs Derek back and they stay there for a long few moments before pulling away. Stiles looks at Derek and smiles at him, determined and energized in a way he hasn’t felt for months. He grabs the black bag Derek dropped when he was first caught and he gestures toward the relic, “how about you grab what’s yours, I’ll pretend not to notice and we go pick up your sister together. That, uh… that sound like a plan, Big Guy?”

Derek smirks at him and Stiles’ heart jumps again, “sounds like a plan, Stiles.”


End file.
